Too Late
by Inkess
Summary: Garrus returns to his base of operations on Omega to find his squad dead or dying. For the "Death Scene" contest on Aria's Afterlife forum. (Complete.)


It was too late. Even before he approached their base, Garrus knew that he had arrived too late. He could smell the explosion from three blocks away.

When he finally saw the building, there were no mercs in the vicinity. That could mean only one thing. Still, he had to check, to see with his own eyes.

To remember. Because he was the only one who could.

He didn't fool himself. Despite the moniker given to him, he wasn't here for salvation. The only thing left in this place was death. Garrus embraced it, let it sink within him and it made his path clear.

He had to do it. He owed it to them.

Garrus pushed on through what was once a door, and braced himself for whatever lay inside, or at least he thought he did. He had seen everything, fought everything, lived through everything. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Corpses of his team, his friends, lay strewn all around the building. All of them except one, but he couldn't think about him now. He couldn't think about the betrayal. He couldn't think about anger. He had to become like death. Cold.

As he took in the carnage, Garrus forced himself to identify every single member of his squad. Their corpses were mixed with the dead mercs, damaged by the explosion or filled with bullet holes.

Erash was the first he was able to pick out, and only by the broken pieces of his armor. The salarian bomb expert must have had tried to prevent the explosion, and took the brunt of the blast. Monteague lay near, only recognizable by her armor as well. She must have stood nearby.

Garrus heard a weak whimper coming from the other side of the room. One of the "corpses" stirred. He barely recognized Mierin, riddled with holes in a pool of her own blood. Her green eyes held his gaze, trying to tell him something.

"G-Garrus…" she panted. Not _boss_ or _Archangel_. _Garrus_. "I… I…"

Her small mandibles twitched, sticky with blue blood oozing out of her mouth. He knelt next to her, and reached for a pack of medigel, only to see her breathe one last time. His visor confirmed what he already knew.

He was too late.

_Sorry, Mierin_, he thought as he stared into her lifeless eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what she was trying to tell him. The same thing she had been trying to ever since she joined his squad.

He could never give her the answer she wanted. Just… couldn't. That wasn't part of his life anymore. He wasn't sure if it ever was.

Near the entrance to the basement, he found the giant form of Gundan Krul. Even with the massive amount of damage needed to take him down, the mighty krogan stirred when he approached. Next to him lay Melanis, but he was beyond help.

"Down… there… Rip-per… Sensat… Vor-Vortash… Tried… Tried to…"

Then he died, too.

Garrus found the bodies of the three squad members Krul mentioned close to each other, among the corpses of all three major merc gangs. The mercs were pushing in through the underground passages, and Vortash installed some sort of tech that sealed the doors. His omni-tool still glowed around his hand. Ripper and Sensat tried to buy the batarian tech some time, apparently. They were all cut down, but stopped the mercs from advancing.

It wasn't enough. The damage was already done. They probably knew that, but fought on. They fought until their last breath. Just like their boss expected them to. Garrus lowered his head. They fought for him. Was it worth it? What kind of leader lets this happen to his squad?

Garrus gritted his teeth and moved on. There were two of his squad left to account for. He went to check the upper floor.

On the gallery overlooking the lower floor, he stumbled into the bodies of Butler and Weaver. They both had sniper training, and were trying to cover their friends below. Once the mercs dealt with the others, they were overrun.

The omni-tool on Butler's wrist glowed, displaying the holo of his wife. He had met her, they all had. They became more than squad mates. They were friends. Buddies. He let this happen to his friends.

Garrus felt his mandibles trembling. He was the designated sniper of the squad. He was supposed to be covering them. He wasn't. He wasn't here when they needed him most.

Just like for Shepard.

She died on the _Normandy_, and he wasn't around. Ever since, he was looking for a way to redee—

The sound of guns barking made him flinch. He ran over to the window overlooking the only bridge leading to their base and saw a small group of mercs returning.

Good.

Garrus shot them all. Quickly. Painlessly. It was better than what they deserved, but he had no choice. He had to stay up here, where he had tactical advantage.

Once the fools seeking death had been dealt with, Garrus gathered the bodies of everyone he could in the lower floor and covered them with sheets. It was the least he could do. Then he pulled a knife from his armor, took off his visor, and carved in the names of his squad in the order he found them. Erash. Monteague. Mierin. Gundan Krul. Melanis. Ripper. Sensat. Vortash. Butler. Weaver.

Sidonis.

Once he carved in the last name, Garrus burned it with a precise tech attack from his omni-tool.

Lantar Sidonis was going to burn. Archangel's wrath would find him, no matter how far he ran. Garrus Vakarian might have had mercy for him, but he was gone. That turian died in the moment he received the news about the _Normandy_.

It was too late for Garrus Vakarian, but Archangel would have his revenge.

Archangel returned to his vantage point upstairs and pressed his cheek against the stock of his Mantis.

Let them come.


End file.
